


The Qun of Arlathan

by Taffia



Series: Following Fate [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Arlathan, Crown for a Sovereign, F/M, Ferelden, Following Fate, Hawke joins the Qun, Qunari, Qunmance, Tevinter Imperium
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taffia/pseuds/Taffia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alistair leaves Ferelden to try to find his father, Isabela and Varric go along to keep him out of trouble. Left in a land still wary of their presence, Marian and the Qunari do what they can to build a new home. Sequel to Following Fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Across the Waking Sea

The mist hung heavily across the bay. Denerim sat upon the southwestern shore, a shadowy smudge upon the horizon. A small ship made its way with a slow steadiness to the north, heading for a peninsula of cliffside that helped to protect a major gateway into Ferelden. The sails were white and plain. No flag hung from mast or prow. Its shape was vaguely Antivan in profile but with curious openings cut along the middle deck hull. The figures that moved about on board were as silent as the fog about them.

But this was no stealth mission. Some of these souls were seeking a new place to call home, guided by the tides and new allies. A few looked at it as a return to a home they had long lost and were overwhelmed with emotion to see again.

Marian Hawke stood at the rail, her green eyes fixed upon their destination with a sort of hopeful sadness. Once, she'd hoped to bring her mother and siblings back here when all threat of Blight was long past. The hand fate dealt was quite different. Swoop, the loyal family mabari, was still with her, but her family had grown exponentially despite her losses. She had more brothers and sisters, all of whom would die for her as readily as she would for them. She had a full heart for the first time since her father's death. And she had a son to whom she could pass her wisdom—even though the rules of family were no longer so exclusive. She knew he was of her blood even if he never would. And that was all that mattered.

"It's rather foreboding, isn't it?"

The willowy elven woman was at Marian's side like a ghost. Merrill...an unexpected companion on this journey but nonetheless welcome. She'd promised no blood magic. Despite this, she'd been assigned an Arvaraad, and he stood not five paces off seeming to appear disinterested. A delicate ploy. Even Marian approved of the caution.

"What is?"

Merrill gestured out into the shadowy mists. "The weather. The shore. The knowledge that the only place the banns saw fit to let us live was an old Tevinter ruin. Well, to let the _Qunari_ live. I'm sure the rest of us can go wherever. Don't you think?"

" _I_ am Qunari, Merrill."

"Oh, right," came the sheepish reply. "I keep forgetting about that. You just...don't look like they do. Being _shem_ and all. And redheaded. And hornless. And _shem_."

Marian sighed. She'd learned quickly that there were some things impossible to explain. Still, she was glad for Merrill's company. It gave her someone to talk to with Varric and Isabela off on some secret mission. It involved King Alistair. That was all she knew. Isabela had been excited about it well enough, and Marian made Varric promise he would write all of it down, even if the rest of the world could never know. Even with her new place in life, or perhaps due to it, Marian wanted little more than to be with the friends who had seen her to Par Vollen and back. Fenris was about somewhere, but his place was with the soldiers on a ship yet to follow.

For a time, they watched the far shore draw closer in silence. The ship moved up the estuary along the eastern shoreline, and it was not much longer before a shadow as imposing as the spires of Denerim appeared through the fog like the parting of a veil. An old lighthouse stood crumbling and dark at the very perimeter of a massive structure. Walls several spans high rose into the air, encasing arched buttresses and a fortress of gray stone that had watched Ages pass by without a thought for it. Where Soldier's Peak had been avoided for its ghosts and demons, Viricum had been shunned for its inhospitable terrain and proximity to the Brecilian Forest. No noble in his right mind had wanted to reclaim it.

Marian couldn't help but feel like they'd been had. Alistair had taken his leave of the country long before deliberations on a home for the Qunari had been completed. He had put his trust in Bann Teagan. Teagan had laid it at the feet of those lesser, and it was only when the Warden-Commander stepped in that anything came to fruition. She had been fair in allowing Kithshok to choose something that would be easily defensible while still catering to the skittish population that—despite Sten's heroism—preferred to keep Qunari out of sight and out of mind. Merrill said she knew the area from when her clan still wandered the woods. It would have to do.

A wind blew in from off the sea. Winter was fast upon them, and the chill had become an unfamiliar thing after Par Vollen. The former Champion of Kirkwall hugged her arms tightly to her, cursing that the crimson fibers of her shift were not thicker or spun of wool. Seasons in the tropics were merely dry or wet. There was no break from the heat. Here, she was surprised she could not see her breath and clenched her jaws together to keep her teeth from chattering.

A weight fell about her shoulders like a warm embrace, a light trim of fur tickling her neck where it was exposed from her hair being bound up. Marian spun about in surprised but quickly eased when her gaze traveled up the line of a broad chest until it met a face returning a barely perceptible smile.

"You forgot your cloak below, _kadan_." It was Kithshok...Aqunan...that part of her soul she could never be without. His _asala_ sash from his days as Taarbas she wore always about her waist. Her Amell family shield he bore as his own for the same reasons. In so many ways were they bound, but it was a confinement in which they were beyond content.

She felt a blush when his fingers grazed her cheek. Merrill was looking on in wonder, used to only seeing the great kossith male from a distance and avoiding him whenever she could. She avoided all of them, her Arvaraad intimidating enough. Marian forgot that some were not so used to their presence being a benign thing as others.

"The healer is nice enough," the elf had told her once when they were still visitors in Denerim. "She reminds me a bit of Anders."

"Asari?" Marian had scoffed. "How could she possibly remind you of Anders?"

"It's in her eyes, I think. It's like she has seen far more than any mortal soul should be able to bear...and still sees it...as if even blinking can't make it go away."

Tender though he was toward Marian, Kithshok did not trust Merrill. She was a _saarebas_ and had spent far too long in the corruption of Kirkwall. He made no effort to conceal this point. Marian did not interfere, did not attempt to be a buffer or a mediator. She did not try to make anyone friends with anyone else. She understood matters far too well to even bother.

But her mind wasn't thinking at all of Merrill's shock or puzzling through how to alleviate the discomfort of a friend. Her whole world had become the existence of two people and the smell of the sea. It was half a breath of time captured in that light and accidental touch. If her sense were not stronger, Marian would have thought the clouds to have parted, the fog to have lifted, and the sun to have come to bathe them all in a warm and golden light.

The chill still held on. The damp still permeated every fiber and thickened every breath. Kithshok's hands were back at his sides, and Marian was left to shrug her cloak better about her to stay warm. A call came out from the crow's nest above to signal that an appropriate landing site was within view. Arvaraad stepped forward and said something lowly for Kithshok's ears only, and the Qunari general nodded.

"I recommend you get below with the other women," he said, his eyes on Marian while addressing them both. "We don't know what might be waiting."

"It's a gift with teeth," Marian commented with a glance over her shoulder. They were fully in the shadow of the fortress, its crumbling, ancient stone close enough to see rivulets of moisture glittering upon the surface, coursing downward along cracks and growths of brown moss.

"Perhaps, but our duty is clear. We preserve what we can and rebuild what we must. We are here to fulfill a demand of the Qun, _kadan_ , and this is not the first time any of us have been handed a prison in which to live freely."

The woman's stomach clenched at those particular memories of Kirkwall, the Qunari soldiers shoved like cattle into a sequestered area of the docks, a firetrap of a warehouse for a home. The shadow of Viricum grew all the darker and colder for the very thought that her own people, her own native Ferelden, could be so ignorant as a city whose history is long-steeped in slavery and dark magics. But she remembered how she had felt about Sten when he was imprisoned in Lothering, her sister's nightmares, her brother's ferocity at defending his family. If the Blight hadn't come and nothing had changed, she doubted she would have been any different than the fear-addled banns.

And that made her feel worse.

But she was not the same. She had grown past the closeted ignorance, had experienced the cosmopolitan wisdom of a people who knew the worth of learning everything just to know that what was simplest was best. She had been Ben-Hassrath, a guardian. She was now Basarigena, and it would be up to her to ensure that the society she had come to love would continue to function with utmost efficiency.

_We are here to fulfill a demand of the Qun._

And this was only the beginning.


	2. Belly of the Dragon

The Vashoth Stenok had split off into groups. Moving with caution across the grounds and through the darkness of long-abandoned corridors, they worked, first, at claiming a safe base of operations. There was not much to clear out at the start. Some forest animals had taken up residence where nature and time had done the most damage. Deeper areas showed signs of great spiders, and there was a sour dankness to the whole place that didn't seem to have any point of origin.

A burly Sten led the foray into the deepest area beneath the western walls. His brothers in the _antaam_ had long ago nicknamed him Vassa, implying a sharpness of vision, for though he had been robbed of one silver-violet eye, it had only seemed to make his skill at archery all the better. Rumor had it that he had killed one of the profane Chantry mothers in the _basra_ city of Kirkwall. He had never confirmed or denied it. Duty was not something one boasted of.

He brought them to a halt when they reached a room that appeared to have once been a wine cellar or food store. Broken, rotted bits of wood and debris lay everywhere, most of it barely recognizable for what it might have once been. A rat's nest was disturbed, the creatures fleeing in a squeaking mass toward a gaping pit in the middle of the floor. Vassa peered down into the darkness. The light from his torch was powerless against the nothing, but he could feel a chill draft waft up from below. This was no mere hole. It was an opening, an opening to a passage that led somewhere.

An Ashaad moved about the opening, periodically kneeling to examine something more closely. His fingers traced along scratches in the flagstone, dabbed into viscous fluids to determine their origin, felt for any other telltale signs just below the rim of the opening. When he had completed his circuit of the pit, he looked up to Vassa and nodded.

"Seal it," Vassa said lowly to the others, motioning for them to back out slowly. "Barricade the doors until we have a better solution. This colony will lose none to the _vashun_ while I breathe."

His men did not question, did not falter. They left and did exactly as he said. Doors were barred nearly the entire way back to the upper levels of the fortress in some vain hope that it would keep any wandering beasts away from what was most precious.

They eventually came to a massive chamber. There was no way to see where the walls met the ceiling. It took a full three-hundred paces to walk the circumference, and that revealed three other vast corridors branching off. It was a crossroads between the different wings of the fortress, each facing a different cardinal direction. Pointed arches both on the walls and a matching pattern in the marble floor marked even intervals in between. Black marble with red granite accents. There was a detail glinting in the torchlight, bands of bronze laid in the spaces between rows and patterns of stone.

The core of it all was a column at the center of the great space, a curiously rough-hewn thing that was far too old to be Tevene in origin. Vassa could say nothing of it beyond that. An _ashkaari_ would have to be brought here to determine the purpose such a thing would have if not holding up the roof. Proper Tevene architecture—as it had to be admitted they had some talent for however grotesque—never required such an intrusive method of structural support. The pillar was thick, about twenty paces in circumference and had the look of something that had been exposed to wind and rain for centuries. Such a thing did not happen indoors. Either it was brought inside, or the fortress had been built around it.

It was impossible to tell the time. How long they had been in the fortress' depths was unknown, but it had easily been most of the day. A vote was taken. The decision was made to return here in the morning and see what could be gleaned. A room of that size could serve many purposes within the needs of their community. The pillar, no matter how curious, would not be a hindrance.

They made their way back in measured haste, caution unnecessary in the places they had been. Some rooms were checked a second time for any recent signs of darkspawn activity now that a burrow had been found, but there did not seem to be any further cause for concern.

The sunlight was garishly bright when they reached it. Already, the main courtyard was full of milling bodies and piles of cargo. Women worked at sorting through supplies with a team of _armaas_ to properly distribute foodstuffs and other necessities. A kitchen area had already been erected, _athlok_ cooks hard at work to prepare the evening meal. Not even the soldiers were idle. Kithshok worked among them to ensure that all the tents were set up to act as temporary living quarters until the fortress was completely secure. It was to him that Vassa reported their findings.

Kithshok's face was grim at the news. "We cannot repel a horde in our condition," he said, his voice low that only the Sten might hear. "The Beresaad is not due for another two days, and I will not lose Vashoth Stenok so soon. I ask that you hold for my order to go back in there."

"Yours is a wisdom I trust," came the reply, Vassa no more confident in the situation than his commander. "But we would not be left waiting had the _basra_ not been allowed to get their way."

He was talking of the enforced thinning of their ranks. In order to prove to the Bannorn that they were not a threat, the Qunari had agreed to divide their numbers between several transport ships—only one of which belonged to them. The Beresaad and remainder of the _gena_ were being ferried by Fereldan sloops, tiny, flat-bottomed things that somehow were considered seaworthy. Marian had claimed that such vessels took her and the other refugees to Kirkwall all those years ago. Vassa had returned the comment, "Because they hoped you would have died on the way," without even a thought for how it would have affected the Basarigena. But she had laughed. The doglords of Ferelden were too stubborn to drown, she had said. It was their very force of will that kept them from sinking.

But Vassa had his orders. They were to hold fast and wait for the Beresaad. And, when it came, they would find a way to properly seal the gaping maw in the foundation of the western wing. If there were others, they would be found and blocked likewise. If they were to live in this ruin that still carried the stench of Tevinter corruption, they would do so with no threat from the inside...or below.

* * *

"I really don't see why he stares at me like that. It's like he can't make up his mind of whether I _have_ done something wrong or _will_ do something wrong." Merrill peered cautiously over her shoulder at Arvaraad while she and Marian settled into a tent they would be sharing with eight other women. It felt very military in its way, like a portable barracks. The white canvass was woven tightly enough to keep out the rain but was still thin enough to let in some natural light from outside. When the flaps were closed, the space could be kept as warm as any house just by burning coal in one bronze tripod brazier.

"He stares for exactly that reason," Marian commented back as if it were only small talk. She was busily making sure that her Ben-Hassrath armor, shield, and Basrath-Kata had not suffered any damage while sealed in a trunk invaded by damp. The sword stuck a little when she tried to unsheathe it, and she promptly sat down upon her cot to set a whetstone to the cold iron.

"But I haven't done anything!"

"Not to them, but that's not the point. You need to remember that Tevinter has been an enemy to the Qunari since the beginning. Tevinter, the home of corrupt magisters and even worse magic. So far as Arvaraad is concerned, you're little better than a demon on a leash."

Merrill's eyes went wide. "I am not-"

"I didn't say you _were_. I'm trying to illustrate the difference in perception."

"You could have used a softer metaphor."

The other woman had to laugh, bitterly, a sound that came mostly through her nose. "Nearly a decade with me, and you expect something soft? Merrill, have you forgotten that I was a Templar? That I _saw_ you perform blood magic and barely managed to stop you from releasing one of the worst of all possible demons? You have your tongue only because you are not _viddathari_ or a prisoner, and I cannot save you further if you misstep." She had to stop what she was doing lest she accidentally destroy her blade. "They allow you here because, despite all that, I trust you. I _need_ you. And it's not impossible for them to trust you, either. If you can prove yourself to Kithshok, it will be enough for them all."

Merrill sat opposite her friend, her hands nervously tugging at the leather edge of her splint mail tunic. Her worry contorted the lines of her _vallaslin_ in such a way that it only exaggerated her expression and made her all the more pitiable. But Marian's heart had only ever so much sympathy to give her. That had been clear from the beginning. Bethany had been the only mage more than simply tolerated in the Champion's life. And after the debacle of the Eluvian and Anders' betrayal, the human's heart had hardened considerably. That she was being as accommodating as this was like a glimpse into their earliest acquaintance, and Merrill was terribly afraid that it would shatter.

"I'm sorry," she said softly after watching Marian return to work. "I truly am. And not just for complaining but...for everything. You've always been kind to me, Hawke, in your way. I promise to do my best."

Marian gave a nod without looking up. "You'll be fine, Merrill. And, from one friend to another, let me give you some advice."

The elf perked to attention.

"Make yourself indispensable. The Qunari are a people of purpose and duty, their actions based on need rather than want. Do as you're told, and do it well"-she jerked her chin in the direction of Arvaraad, a small, secret smile curling her mouth-"and he won't need to stare at you anymore."

She learned, then, of Adda Saarebas, a Rivaini witch who had been a critical factor in the Qunari success at Kont-Aar, and a huge reason why Marian was even still alive. She had gained Kithshok's trust when he was Taarbas, earned his utmost respect during his time as Arishok, and she and her sister witches had been given funeral rites usually reserved for the finest of warriors. What Merrill understood from it was that, because she wasn't Tevene, she had a chance. And because she had that chance, she could be invaluable.

Her eyes shot over to Arvaraad. His attention appeared to be focused elsewhere, keeping an eye on things outside the tent rather than within. But she didn't miss that his ear was bent their way, that his body was half-turned to allow him easy entry and at her throat within the span of a heartbeat. Instead of feeling afraid, a spark of confidence settled the cold tightness at the bottom of her gut.

A small spark, but it was the first she could remember feeling in a very long time.


	3. Ebasen Imekari

"Grab her! Grab her, now! _Shaltam_ , Eva, do not let her eat that!"

Asari watched in panic as the fire-haired elf girl chased a squealing Talan around the low-walled sheep fold currently being utilized as a play area for the _imekari_. Talan was more than mobile. She'd learned to walk since the Qunari arrival at Denerim, but it was not a leisurely pace that she preferred. Her legs were strong for her age. Her lyrium-blue eyes already flashed with such fearlessness. Eva chased after the little head of white hair as gleefully as the toddler avoided her grasping hands.

"It is only mud, Tamassran," she returned.

"We don't know that for certain." Asari juggled a swaddled, squirming Benassen in one arm while reaching out to stop a kossith yearling from chasing after her human sister. " _Vashun_ have walked this earth. Can't you see that nothing grows?"

She was trying desperately not to sound angry, for she wasn't. There was a frustration at having to watch a half-dozen _imekari_ , but Eva had proven to be a huge boon. Talan had taken well to her. Mastering that child alone was half the battle won. Benassen, as abrupt as his birth had been, was much easier. He slept a good deal, cried very little, and was not picky about what he ate. But he would soon grow up, and it wouldn't take long before he was just as much a handful as his older sister.

"They are children, Asari," Eva put plainly though a grin still brightened her face. She had caught Talan up in her arms and was holding her close, mud and all. "They are going to eat mud! _I_ ate mud. My Qunra thought it was funny because it tasted so horrid, she didn't have to teach me the lesson at all. I learned on my own."

Asari sighed. "And that is part of the problem. I'm no Qunra. My only real experience at raising children is bringing Talan to Par Vollen." Her expression softened. "I am no mother. It was not to be. I'd ask the Basragena's help...but that would only complicate matters." She looked down at Benassen's sleeping face. He would grow to be like his parents—that was assured. The Ariqun's inquiries were always profoundly thorough. What Asari didn't understand were the eyes. Golden like her own. Nowhere in Kithshok's lineage as far back as the homeland had such a trait appeared. Marian was as equally likely to have contributed as the color was impossible in humans. Perhaps a combination? She would need to draw out a few diagrams when she had time.

And time was precious these days.

"Maybe you should write something," Eva suggested, interrupting Asari's thoughts. "What of those histories you were helping Ashkaari with?" She was meaning Varric. Specifically, she was talking about his truth-based, borderline-scandalous serial of _Caught in Qunandar_. They got away with it by explaining that it was meant to be an informative guide—however verbose—on how to identify those most likely to go Tal-Vashoth along with the root causes. It was also good for easing _viddathari_ into the Qunari culture when _qamek_ was too extreme or ineffective (dwarves showed a particular resilience).

"I have no grasp on Torio Deluca," came the resigned reply. "My domain was the Ben-Hassrath in the story. Her actions rely on his to continue the fiction."

"Then start anew," the elf shrugged. "Write about this place. Study the plants. Tamassran, you are only saddled with the children until Qunra arrives, and you have yet to let yourself rest!"

"Duty cannot ever be ignored."

Eva sighed. Talan was finally calmer in her arms, but it would not last. The other children were as equally wound up. There was only one recourse. "Tell a story, then. Here. Right now. Surely, there are Qunari tales both educational to the children and relieving for you."

Her eyes were hopeful. Asari could tell that the elf needed the diversion as much as she did, herself. She held a breath as she thought, her mind racing through all the things she knew as healer, herbalist, and _tamassran_. She settled for something that would entertain as well as teach, something more recent and relevant.

_Generations after the homeland and oceans away, a single woman gave birth to two boys. One was strong of body and will. The other was quick of mind and fiery of spirit. In both of them was great promise._

_They were raised together with the other children, but the two acted as if none else existed. They had a bond all their own that could not be denied by Qun or Qunra. This was embraced and used for the benefit of all, each brother complimenting the other in thought, word, and deed._

_The day of assignment was a challenge. Inseparable but inherently different, they could not be given the same duties as apprentices. He of the strong body and stalwart heart was given to the antaam as Karashok. He quick of mind was given to the viddathlok to learn the scholarly way as Ashlok. This lasted only so long. Karashok naturally excelled at all that was expected of him, but Ashlok suffered without his brother. Years would pass before he was eligible for reassignment, but he had always been impatient._

_At fifteen, the brothers were brought together again where the Arishok himself insisted on observing them. Karashok was to be promoted, and they hoped to resolve the issue of his brother at the same time. Unaware, the boys sparred with wooden weapons as boys are wont to do. Karashok had his skill, but Ashlok had a previously unobserved agility. Match after match, Ashlok defeated his brother, a natural master of the unexpected stroke._

" _Vashkata," the Arishok proclaimed. "Vashkata will he be."_

_Now, both brothers were able to excel in their assigned roles, training together, learning from each other. The tamassrans have even written that such a thing is the epitome of what Koslun teaches us, that even our differences, when used in such harmony, can only make us stronger._

_One day, it came to pass that-_

Asari stopped short. The story was far from finished, but the shadow cast across the ground before her had a familiar profile. Looking up, she saw the face of Kithshok, violet eyes staring at her with a terrible blankness, such an absence of feeling that she had never seen.

His voice was the same way. "Have you everything that you need, Tamassran?"

Asari's mouth went sickeningly dry. For a moment, she couldn't even think let alone breathe, her lips working but unable to make a sound. The Ariqun had made his past known to her out of necessity. The young healer had found it a fitting tale to exemplify the concept of justice and the importance of the many working as one. She hadn't given a single thought to the reality that he very well might overhear her.

"We do, Kithshok," she eventually croaked, her face burning with embarrassment. "All well be ready when Qunra arrives."

Kithshok nodded, a single gesture of acknowledgment, and he left.

The cold, clamping feeling wouldn't release the kossith woman's gut. Even though her breath was steadying, she couldn't shake the notion that she was due for a reprimand. If it came from Marian, it would be merciful and seem more like comfort. But from Kithshok? He was the temperate sort. Temperate and just. And she had watched him kill his own blood-kin—his own brother by Qun and by birth—to protect the sanctity of the Qun and the lives of its people. Tamassran stories to children were supposed to be truthful allegory...not historical fact. Not yet.

"And that's why I don't tell stories on my own," Asari put bluntly to no one in particular. "I don't have Ashkaari's gift to alter the facts to disguise the truth."


	4. The Antivan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For BaiLia and Keolah--your encouragement is deeply appreciated. :)

The first several days were trying for everyone. None could be spared for proper scouting beyond the walls, and the Vashoth Stenok spent many long hours sealing off darkspawn burrows. What _gena_ there were were hard at work mending parts of the structure or building anew. An ancient library had been found in the main keep, and Asari immediately claimed it for the _viddathlok_. The _ashkaari_ found themselves buried in half-rotted tomes that the ranking Tamassran demanded be preserved and studied.

Marian found Merrill constantly in her shadow. It was a frustration at first that eventually moved her to pity. Of all the mages she had ever known outside of her sister, Merrill was the one she had desperately wanted to trust due to her gentle nature. She was less naïve about some things, now, that much was certain. The wounds from her days of blood magic were faded scars. She didn't mention the Eluvian or old Arlathan. The elf was silent, shy, and often stared longingly at the Brecilian Forest.

When the Beresaad finally arrived, one would think it was a conquering hero returning. All the Qunari in the fortress rushed to various viewpoints or followed _athlok_ to the makeshift pier below the cliff. Fenris and his white hair were almost indistinguishable from the kossith males with him, but his Sword of Mercy stuck out like the Chantry relic that it was. Marian met him directly just before the gate to the interior and took that same time to make a mental tally of all those that came with him.

"What of the _gena_?" she asked after all the warriors and laborers had come ashore. "Who is defending Qunra and the others?"

"Your Ben-Hassrath are with them, and they follow behind. There is...something I need to discuss with you and Kithshok. Where is he?"

"He's been overseeing work on the new barracks. Come with me."

The two moved through the busy courtyard and over to the northwestern wall. What remained of stone foundations of buildings long tumbled down were being braced and fortified, and tall wooden posts were stood up along the construction of dark granite to further support it as it rose. A small pavilion was set up off to the side, a wooden table covered in broad sheets of parchment shaded by weather-worn canvas. Standing beneath in the golden glow of filtered sunlight was Kithshok, arms crossed casually over his chest, while two stone masons explained the construction plans.

All of the Qunari had taken to bundling as well as they could against the weather. The late autumn air was sharp, and even those that had spent years in Kirkwall were not prepared for the biting wind that came in off the Amaranthine Ocean. Kithshok was wrapped in leather and crimson-dyed cotton to such a point that he nearly looked the part of a Chantry Mother without her black mantle. Marian pushed the analogy far from her mind as best she could before she lost her composure to ill-timed giggles. It's not like her own wardrobe left her much room to talk. She had layered her pale violet Ben-Hassrath tunic over her dress uniform of crimson, which in its own turn was over a long-sleeved white shift of linen. All of this was cinched with a leather girdle, the _taarbas_ sash tied about that. What she would have given for a good cloak of rabbit fur, but Asari was deathly afraid that should Qunra arrive and see anyone out of uniform, "...not even demons could know the particular hell that would bring."

This Qunra sounded like the pleasant sort of woman. Marian couldn't wait to meet her.

"Kithshokost," Fenris said with a nod and a salute when they arrived at the pavilion. " _Anaan esaam Qun_."

Kithshok turned his head just enough to greet the newcomers, the hint of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

" _Shanedan_ , Karasten," he replied. "What news do you carry?"

"The Warden-Commander has kept her promise. She has sent experienced Grey Wardens to help better train the Vashoth Stenok. However, I must warn you that-"

" _Sangre del Creador_!"

"-there were some failures in communication."

Even the stonemasons looked up at the continued outburst that echoed through the massive courtyard in a florid Antivan alien to most ears. A man was being escorted by four _karasten_ almost as if he were under arrest. He was dressed in colorful attire of red and gold with a thick, tassled sash of white, deep blue, and black. Two swords were belted to his hips, and Marian noted as he stomped closer, that the pommel of his main weapon was stamped with the griffon crest of the Grey Wardens. The man himself was of a swarthy complexion with black hair feathered with a silver-gray at his temples and the square of his chin where a goatee was carefully trimmed to a tapered point. He was handsome, even with the fine lines of age upon his brow, and he stood straight and tall with a particular level of pride that must have had something to do with the heavy golden medallion shining upon his chest that to any diplomat would identify him as such a one demanding particular attention.

"Is this how you insist on making first impressions?" the Antivan spewed in the common tongue as he was planted before Kithshok and Marian. His words were directed at Fenris. "You stow me aboard like so much cargo and then manhandle me like a prisoner of war? I had _hoped_ the tales of Qunari were mostly fictions like everything else told over too much wine. Enough of this." He jerked each of his arms in turn to pull them free of the _karasten_ that had been holding him. Neither made a move to reach for him again when Kithshok gave a subtle shake of his head. "Where is Solona?"

"Qunra separated him from his companion before we even left Denerim," Fenris explained to the others.

"She is my wife!"

"She is also a mage, Signore Rideri," the elf replied firmly, "and the Qunari have very strict rules about such matters."

"Perhaps, but that had nothing to do with why we were separated, and you know that as well as I."

Marian scowled in confusion, her green eyes darting back and forth between the two men. "Karasten, was Signore Rideri's wife entrusted to an _arvaraad_?"

"Not as such," Fenris clarified. "Qunra was vehement the woman not be transported on the same ship as this gentleman. She feared corruptive forces would be at work. The woman went with Qunra and the _gena_. This man was on board with myself and the remainder of the Beresaad."

"And Qunra's ship is due at any time?"

The elf nodded.

A full smile spread across Marian's face, and this time she allowed the laughter to bubble up and out. She turned to the bemused Kithshok beside her. "Kadan, I believe it might be easier if you allowed me to speak with Signore Rideri in private. I would also like Solona brought to me when she arrives as well. Qunra would be wise to stay well out of this."

"As you would have it, Ben-Hassrath." He nodded to the soldiers that surrounded the Grey Warden, and, each saluting, they moved away. His next words were to Fenris. "In this case, Karasten, I ask that the Grey Warden female be brought to Ben-Hassrath as soon as she arrives."

"I'll be in the old smithy," Marian added as she walked away, guiding the still fuming Antivan behind her.

No words were said between them for much of the journey across the yard to the defensive wall on the opposite side. The buildings that stood here were still mostly intact and had required very little by way of renovation. Marian had chosen the old smithy and its surrounding grounds for use by the Ben-Hassrath. Weapons and armor could be stored and repaired here, and there was plenty of room for drills away from the Beresaad and Vashoth Stenok. For the time being, it was also the least crowded location in the whole of the fortress save inside the imposing edifice itself.

It was the Antivan who spoke first.

"Do you actually subscribe to all this nonsense?" He gestured to the whole of her, her clothes, her Ben-Hassrath bracers, the sash at her waist embroidered quite clearly with the insignia of the House of Tides. "By your manner and accent, I would have taken you for a Fereldan."

"I was born in Ferelden," Marian replied as she offered Signore Rideri a seat at the long table with benches she'd had brought into the low building. She served him water in a clay beaker before pouring some for herself. "Lothering. The Blight forced my family to Kirkwall. I met the Qunari there."

"That tells me how you got entangled with them, but that doesn't answer my question."

"The answer is a personal one."

"My problem is a personal one, and you apparently know something of its resolution." The man crossed his arms on the tabletop and leaned forward, his dark eyes narrow and scrutinizing. "I am no fool, madam. You've instigated a private chat to earn my trust, to make me listen, to assuage my fears that my beloved wife could be in danger at the hands of that golden-eyed harpy. You get nothing if I get nothing. Now...tell me, what is a woman from Lothering doing playing Qunari?"

Marian stared back at him, hard. Her green eyes burned into his black ones, looking through them, beyond them, trying to gauge the sort of man he was behind all the finery and poise. It was a thing she was still learning, that talent that most Qunari seemed to have where they could glimpse the very soul of a person simply by observing them. This Antivan made no sense to her, not then, but if the Warden-Commander had truly sent him as the Grey Warden to train the Vashoth Stenok as part of Alistair's agreement with Par Vollen, there was the strong likelihood that he was the trustworthy sort.

"Events after the Blight left my life very broken," she said at last, her expression easing, and she let herself sit back a bit. "Kithshok showed me how I could fix it. It worked."

"I sense a story there." The Antivan's eyes glittered and his lips twitched almost with mischief.

"It's a long one and no business of yours." Marian smiled with a sardonic sort of politeness and drank the whole of her cup of water in one go.

"Madam, I'm a bard. Stories _are_ my business. However, you are correct in now not being the time." His expression sobered once more. "My wife. Why was she taken? If it were truly due to her being a mage, I do know _enough_ about the Qunari to suspect that they would not hide her away with the women and children. She would have been on my ship instead...and I saw what you Qunari did to the mages there."

"Solona is _saarebas_ , but hers is not a fate to be judged by Qunari unless she is a prisoner of war. I believe that you and your wife were separated for a very different reason. A particular reason that any Qunra would find very dangerous and corrupting." Marian's face turned quizzical for a moment as if something had dawned on her and she was still puzzling it out. "Two reasons, actually."

Marian took the time to pour herself another cup of water before she bothered saying anything further. The man across from her kept whatever frustrations he was feeling contained. His was the long-practiced patience of one familiar with dealing in unknowns. There was still a tenseness to his shoulders. It wasn't fear or apprehension. If anything, it was anticipation.

"The first reason is a simple observation. Solona is your wife. The Qunari are...not unfamiliar with such a concept, but it isn't permitted in the society."

"In some ways, I'm sure that saves a number of people their sanity," Signore Rideri commented with a small smirk. "Though I'd hardly see that as a reason to enforce such a ruling on two non-Qunari."

"Forget what you see as sensible, _signore_ ," Marian returned with a mirror of his own expression. "I do believe romance to be the corruptive force Qunra was truly afraid of."

"Surely you jest!"

"Not at all. The logic is there. She separates a man and wife on a journey that will easily take a full day or more. No embraces, no kisses, no words of deepest affection whispered like a wicked secret. Unexposed to such things, the Qunari remain untainted."

The woman held her cup in both hands before her face. She didn't bother to drink. It was more to give herself something to do...and hide behind in case she started laughing. "The second reason is tied to the first. Your wife being a mage _would_ have made the correct thing be to have her watched by an Arvaraad. If she were to be placed on a ship full of men with a few women and children, that would have been one thing. She wasn't. She was put with the women and children and guarded by Ben-Hassrath-my own order. Myself aside, we aren't really trained to fight mages unless the need is most dire. Therefore, I can only draw one conclusion. Solona is not the threat here. Qunra determined it to be you."

The man balked. "Me? I have talent with a blade, absolutely, but I can't see how-"

"You are Antivan," Marian interrupted pointedly, trying and failing at hiding a grin. "Qunari have two stereotypical expectations of Antivans. The first is that they are all clever as Crows. The second is that they all break hearts. You can thank a certain serial fiction for that."

Signore Rideri sat as he was, frozen as if with disbelief. Then his lips pressed together beneath a brow furrowed in moderate confusion. Finally, those stiff shoulders of his began to vibrate, just a little, and then they shook, ever so slightly. The laughter that came was low and rich but quickly built into something hearty and boisterous. He laughed with all the bravado of an Antivan out of one of Varric's wild stories, and Marian joined in as much for that as at her own revelation that Qunra's greatest fear could have been little more than kisses and flirtatious behavior. It was still a ridiculous concept to her ears despite her prolonged exposure to the ways of Par Vollen.

"It is a sad day, indeed," the man commented at last, reaching for his cup of water to soothe his throat, "when Cyrano Rideri inspires fear not for his martial skill or his wit...but for his ability to make love." He loosed one last bark of laughter and slammed the clay cup down onto the table. "But you have nothing to fear. Qunari might leash their mages, but my wife quite effectively leashes me."


	5. Katari and Taashath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a story I never meant to leave languish. Life definitely got in the way, but after reading back through, I also recall that I'd approached this originally with the intent that I'd get to play an Antivan Inquisitor back when, in development, that was still a possibility for DAI. Fortunately, I can still keep to my original plot direction for this with no major lore contradictions. For anyone interested in where Cyrano and Solona even came from, their story is "Crown for a Sovereign."
> 
> I'm really sorry to keep everyone waiting! Thank you if you've stuck around!

Solona sat at the prow of the ship. It was a small vessel like the others gone before and cut through the waves just as easily. That was to say, it rode the waters of the Denerim Inlet about as well as a bronto dancing on its toes. The woman didn’t mind. She sat with her face to the wind and a smile curling her lips. The past few years living in Rialto had given her an appreciation for the sea that was unsullied by the lackluster transport provided to her current companions.

The Qunari were more accommodating than she had expected. Those called Ben-Hassrath, two of which stood near to her now, seemed more interested in preventing anyone else’s approach as opposed to Solona’s freedom of movement. That was an odd sensation. She had expected Templars. She had feared the rumored Arvaraad that the one named Fenris hinted might involve themselves. These Ben-Hassrath were not the friendliest alternatives, surely, but the mage had absolutely no issue admitting that she could have been shackled with far worse. She knew her lot in life. She also knew that her current political standing and personal wealth meant nothing here.

Her only issue since embarking that morning had been the one called Qunra. She had been the one to demand Solona be ripped from her husband’s arms at the pier, the one to command the Ben-Hassrath to confine her to quarters belowdecks, the one to shuffle any little ones in the opposite direction and as far away as possible. Solona had been surprised when her guards made no move to stop her when she opened her cabin door and tentatively stepped outside. They merely followed her, the two painted human women seemingly bound by silence as they kept no further than two paces behind their charge. Qunra shrieked the moment Solona had set foot on the main deck, throwing out her arms like a barrier between the “ _saarebas_ ” and the children, each of whom peered curiously around the stooped, venerable form of their guardian.

“Back, dangerous thing,” one of the Ben-Hassrath had translated, the hint of a Rivaini accent coloring her words. “Your corruption will not touch us.”

Solona smiled at the Qunari woman with her gnarled, ancient horns. She aimed for politeness, whether it came across that way or not, hoping that smile gracing her lips softened the severity of her _vallaslin_.

“It is heartening to know, Qunra, that no matter where one travels in the world, some things always remain the same.”

Qunra clamped her hands down upon the ears of the closest child as Solona and her guardians continued past. It was with a look of horror that the old woman realized that she could block the words from entering one pair of ears...but not them all. Solona didn’t see how it mattered. Words were words, and despite them being a demon’s most powerful weapon, it still required one to understand the language and deduce the meaning. Qunra spoke neither the King’s Tongue nor that of the Empress. It was doubtful these children did, either.

Solona had spent all the time since sitting as she was, hands in her lap and gray eyes staring out to sea. The land on either side of the inlet would periodically attract her attention, but it was more the uniformity of the far distance that she wanted. The chill didn’t bother her. She had fallen in love with the ocean over the past few years. It had begun when her husband first took her aboard the _Adorata_ , a ship he had commissioned be built for her as a wedding present. Cyrano had spared no expense, ensuring that the ship was as swift and seaworthy as it was beautiful to behold. It had also been key to re-establishing his control over the Felicissima Armada. The _Adorata_ ’s maiden voyage had been a race against the fastest ship in the entire fleet, the _Corso_ , and as the waves were sliced by the virgin hull, Solona had marveled at how they left the competition far behind.

Rialto’s power lay with the sea and controlling the ships upon it. Cyrano conducted his business with an expert hand, but Solona had come to appreciate the various aspects in a way she had never anticipated. She had grown up a mage hidden from the rest of the world, disguised first as a Dalish of her father’s people and then sent to the Grey Wardens when her human mother’s new husband would have nothing to do with a half-breed girl polluting his household. She hadn’t ever expected to find such freedom...such happiness. But she had it. Her heart was full.

And no fear-mongering Qunari was going to ruin that. Not today. Not ever.

A bell tolled four times at the far end of the ship near where the hired Fereldan pilot manned the tiller. For all the talk of alliance, Solona had found it a curious thing that these Qunari, who had come all the way south in ships of their own, had suffered to have such transport confiscated. She had not been party to the deliberations, but she did recall seeing the scowl on the Warden-Commander’s face after a long meeting with the banns. The only rationale Solona could put to it was that it was a sign of trust between the two peoples, but two Qunari ships--clearly refitted Antivan and Orlesian designs--could not possibly be seen as a threat in any way to the rebuilt Fereldan navy.

“Are you hungry, _signora_?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Solona blinked rapidly as her attention snapped over to the Rivaini Ben-Hassrath. The woman looked back at her with questioning dark eyes and an expectant expression.

_Signora_. Not _saarebas_ or _basra_ or (the particularly polite ones) _Warden_. Unlike the other Qunari that Solona had actually interacted with thus far, the Ben-Hassrath both knew and used her proper Antivan address. It wasn’t even so much the unexpected question that startled her as it was the sound of that single word.

“Are you hungry?” Ben-Hassrath asked again. “One of us could fetch you something. It would be best if you did not eat at mess, given the circumstances.”

“And what about you?” the mage replied, eyeing up first one guardian and then the other. “Are you not also hungry? I’ve not seen you stop for a bite all day.”

“When you eat, we will eat,” the other Ben-Hassrath stated in a level tone. She was not so dark as her counterpart, and her accent was far less identifiable. Nevarran, perhaps? Her hair was a mousy brown and worn in rows of tight braids that were then bound up behind her head. Even so, that hair reached all the way down to her tailbone.

Both women had broad shoulders and skin painted with a white basketweave pattern. They were sun-bronzed, the Nevarran definitely of a more swarthy complexion than any of her original countrymen. They did not appear to wear proper armor in the same sense as the male warriors of Qunari society, but each bore a sword upon her back that would cleave granite in twain as easily as a wedge of cheese. A shield of black iron joined this, diamond-shaped with sharp corners. To expect a gentle persona out of either was folly.

“Then, I will eat, yes,” Solona said at last, getting to her feet and making to move amidships. “I won’t see either of you starve on account of me.”

There was an unspoken exchange between the Ben-Hassrath, and the Nevarran gave salute and made for belowdecks. Solona made to follow, but the remaining woman held her back.

“There is no reason to go down if you would still prefer the sunshine. Ben-Hassrath will bring enough for us all.”

“Do you still prefer the sunshine?” Solona returned. “I can always eat in my cabin.”

The other woman turned more fully. “ _Signora_ , you are not a prisoner. The orders my sister and I follow are to ensure that no harm comes to you.”

“Even though I am some ‘dangerous thing?’”

“We were not all born on Par Vollen or Seheron. Before I came to the Qun, my grandmother tried to teach me how to commune with spirits, which herbs to blend with lyrium to ensure protection from demons. I know good magic from bad--Karasten knows this. It is why I guard you.”

“What brought you to the Qun?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and darted back toward the middle deck where Qunra shouted at the children playing there, desperately trying to get them to behave.

“Tevinter killed my family. They had wanted to learn the secret of my grandmother’s power. She refused.”

“Don’t forget to tell her how you killed them back.” The second Ben-Hassrath returned with a basket over her arm. She sat down near Solona and began to pass out the bounty. Bread, fresh cheese, apples, and sweet grapes, it was no proper meal, but it would suffice. “That’s the best part, really. When she arrived at Par Vollen as _viddathari_ , the karataam that guarded our camp called her Katari--one who brings death. She wasn’t three months on the island before the Ben-Hassrath claimed her.”

“Sister….”

“I really think you should tell her,” the woman urged enthusiastically around a mouthful of apple.

There was a heavy sigh and a long pause.

“I lured the slavers into the cave where my grandmother would summon the spirits, telling their magisters that all of her relics were sequestered within. I had also planted charges of gaatlok in crevices near the entrance. They were too distracted trying to identify the bobbles I’d fashioned together from feather and bone to notice me sneak outside and light the fuse. The entire cave collapsed. Qunari came through my village not long after in pursuit of them and actually insisted on digging the blighters out to verify that they were, indeed, dead.”

“Is that when you left with them?” Solona asked.

“No. They recruited me after several years of slaver bands going missing. My village only had one hedge witch left by the time I’d seen fourteen namedays, and the Chantry was just as much a problem. One of the Templars that came taught me how to use a sword and realized I had some small bit of talent they could use. Then...they threatened our witch.”

The other Ben-Hassrath made a gesture with her hands as if something were blowing apart.

“I knew how to prepare lyrium. The Templar had taught me how to use the force of my will against my enemies. We still had gaatlok the Qunari traded us in exchange for iron ore. No more slavers. No more Templars. And when the Qunari came through again, I was offered a family in exchange for my talents.”

“We still call her Katari,” the other put in. “We aren’t supposed to, but when there’s twenty of you, and you’re all Ben-Hassrath, it’s sometimes easier to differentiate by accomplishment.”

“And what do they call you?”

“Taashath,” she replied with an easy smile. “Calm. I got really good at breaking up fights that would start in the internment camps without even raising a fist. They thought I’d make a good _tamassran_ at first, but the stoicism just wasn’t me. I’ve had this assignment ever since, and I really can’t complain. Beats being 233rd in line for the throne. That’s for sure.”

Solona blinked, and Taashath laughed.

“I was the only daughter with five brothers. I’m pretty sure my parents thought I eloped, and whoever was 234th in line is definitely not going to miss me. Not like it matters. I’ve been happier under the Qun than I ever was skulking around minor courts waiting for someone higher up the chain to find me interesting and maybe marry me.” She popped a grape into her mouth. “Cutthroat business, that.”

“I grew up on the fringes of the Orlesian court. I think I understand.”

Taashath winced. “No wonder an Antivan swooped in to rescue you. Sometimes, I’m fairly certain that Orlesians are the worst. Will those from other nations stab you in the back? Absolutely, but they’ll at least be honest about it. Orlesians will flirt with you even while declaring war.”

“Antivans are honest?” Katari asked, her face screwing up in confusion. “Since when?”

“Since every house has at least one assassin on retainer,” Taashath replied like it were obvious. “That’s not subterfuge. That’s just business.”

The three women continued to chat and enjoy the fresh air as the ship lumbered closer to their destination. Where Solona had initially felt intimidated by all the Qunari surrounding her, she was now much more at ease, hearing stories from women who were little different than any other she’d ever met. They still had aspirations and dreams, frustrations and uncertainties, but their solid foundation in the Qun gave them each something their previous lives couldn’t: a sense of purpose.

Still, Solona was glad that she was able to admit that she was more than content with her life. Rialto had its constant issues between the Crows and the Armada, but she preferred life as a free mage with a husband that loved her than any alternative Qunari life provided.

A shout came from the crow’s nest. The three women turned to see the crumbling lighthouse of Viricum come into view as the ship followed the curve of the shoreline. The rest of the ruined fortress was not far behind, forms moving about on top of the walls as men raised scaffolding and laid new stone. Some waved when they noticed the ships. Katari whipped her head about as another shout came from behind.

“Qunra’s on the warpath,” she commented, shaking her head in wry amusement. “She thinks she can give us orders to make sure you aren’t reunited with that _venak hol_. If we do, your demon taint will surely corrupt everyone.”

Solona bit nervously at her lower lip. “Do you have to listen to her?”

“As soon as we’re on shore, she’s outranked,” Taashath confirmed as she pushed herself back to her feet. They were nearing the docks. “Asari is the Ariqun’s eyes and ears for the colony, and last I knew, she was more than a little fond of Antivan romances.”


End file.
